I am not what you think I do
by damedeleslac
Summary: Sometimes there are good guys, who are also bad guys. For the whump-a-palooza at whitecollarhc on livejournal
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: All characters, etc belong to their respective creators, etc. I am only playing.

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I am not what you think I do.

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Neal leaned against the elevator wall, eyes closed, keeping his breathing; if not as deep as usual, steady.

The cut on his face was easy to explain away.

_Bugsy escaping from June or Cindy and nipping at his ankles while he was shaving_.

The bruise close to his left eye is carefully hidden by some hard earned make-up artistry.

As for his other injuries...

Bruised ribs, a twisted ankle, the scrapes on his fore arms, an almost black bruise on his back, the cut down his right thigh.

Byron's suits concealed more than a number of pockets, more than any honest suit should have.

The elevator came to a stop, the bell _pinged _and Neal's eyes opened just as the doors did.

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He knew the con.  
How to blend in and stand out simultaneously.

How to leave a conversation and a room without being noticed.

How to make it seem like he'd been part of a room and the conversation for hours, instead of minutes or even seconds.

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Everything ached in time with his heartbeat.

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A cheerful flirty smile.

A flip of his hat.

Sitting at his desk, a leg crossed over the other in a way that makes some agents wonder,

_Is he _or _isn't he?_

No one seeing.

No one noticing.

No one asking.

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Peter dropping a pile of reports on his desk.

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A 'Good job on these'.

A hard slap on his back.

Another cheerful, but not quite respectful smirk.

A friendly grimace at the next stack of files to write reports for.

Ignoring the pain that shoots down his back and wraps around his ribs and has him wanting to throw up and pass out.

Or possibly pass out, and then throw up.

Or pass out while throwing up.

_Waiting for the bathroom to be clear before doing the throwing up part__._

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A joke while (not) eating lunch, that makes everyone laugh.

_Diversion__._

A quick touch up of the makeup.

_Camouflage__._

A question about Martha's baby shower before anyone realises how little he'd eaten.

_Misdirection__._

A trip to the file room to catch his breath, take the weight off of his ankle, to lean over and hug his ribs.

_Fall back to a recovery position__._

Swapping a few files around...

_A reason to get sent home early?_

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Mozzie gives his hobbyist's opinion of the ribs, before checking the stitches he'd done in the very early hours of the morning.

June stands by to provide bandages and heat packs and advice, as if she knows every trick in the book.

_As if she wrote the book and still has a few chapters hidden away somewhere._

And Cindy taking it all in and wanting to know when her turn out in the world will be, despite her grandmother's protests and evidence of some of the lesser consequences right in front of her.

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Then a trick to unlock the anklet without it alerting the Marshalls.

Mozzie reluctantly agreeing to occasionally shift the tracking device during the night.

And Neal's gone.

No capes, no tights, no cowls

And definitely no voice in his ear.

Just a zip line, the city and the night.

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The end.

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Thank you to TattooedLibrarian for betaing.

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	2. Chapter 2

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What Sort of Con Man Are You?

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Bruce Wayne reminds Diana of Neal, Or Neal reminds her of Bruce Wayne. She's not sure which.

They're of a similar height with dark hair. Wayne is broader across the shoulders, but Neal is younger. They're both appreciative of the very fine things in life, though Neal is not so indulging.

Which is one of the things Diana will admit to liking about the supposedly former con man.

And something she wishes she didn't have to be in the same room as when Wayne was.

But the low-key; except for Wayne's presence, fundraiser – to set up sister clinics in New York with the ones run by Leslie Thompkins in Gotham and organise interns and medical students to gain some practical experience in both cities – is Christie's baby.

It's too important to her and Leslie (who reminds Diana of June and Charlie) for Diana to get annoyed at a society drunk, especially when that drunk is the fundraiser's primary (and most generous) benefactor.

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But there's still something about him that makes her think her of Neal.

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It's not until the end of the night, when almost everyone's gone, when Diana realises what it is.

She's learning to see the signs of when Neal does it.

When he smiles as if everything's fine. Like Kate's still alive and he doesn't have a tracker around his ankle and a two-mile radius and he's about to pull the biggest con of the century.

Sometimes it's an act, sometimes it's practice, mostly it's because he's been doing it for so long he's not sure how to stop, that he hasn't stopped.

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She's been watching the same smile on Wayne's face all night.

There's a vase in the corner where Wayne's been lurking, that Diana's beginning to suspect contains rather a lot of champagne.

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It's also the unrepentant, but also vaguely contrite look on Wayne's face, after Leslie has poked him in the ribs, when, for a moment his face is white and he can't seem to catch his breath. And the look on Leslie's is one of concerned, resigned maternal affection, combined with the 'Why do I even bother, you never listen' roll of her eyes.

Diana's seen both looks before.

Wayne's on Neal.

Leslie's on June, but more often on Mozzie and Peter.

When Neal's gotten hurt, doing something stupid (and right), and doesn't want to anyone to worry about him.

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It makes Diana wonder what sort of con man Bruce Wayne is.

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End file.
